


forgotten but not lost

by Satine86



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, Post-Canon, Romance, Suggestive Themes, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: When Anne suffers an injury during practice, Phillip realizes it's not the fall that's the problem: it's the fact she doesn't even remember his name.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why, but I'm a sucker for amnesia fics so here's my take. This is complete, I'm just polishing up stuff as I go.

_PHILLIP_

 

It happened during practice. An ordinary practice that was supposed to be so perfectly average, he wasn’t even there for it. Instead he had been across town stuck in a ridiculously boring meeting with P.T. and one of their new vendors.

In fact, Phillip didn’t even know anything had happened until his carriage was within a block of the circus grounds, and came it to a jolting halt when Constantine and Walter jumped in front of it, waving frantically for his attention. 

He hadn’t returned to the carriage, instead taking off full tilt for the circus, racing past pedestrians until the giant red and white tent came into view. He was vaguely aware of Constantine and Walter trailing behind him, though he lost them when he started weaving through the caravans and outbuildings that peppered the land behind the tent. 

Eventually the small structure he wanted came into view and Phillip nearly made it to the door before he was stopped bodily by W.D.

“How is she?” he asked, noting how pinched the other man's face appeared.

“She’s all right.” Despite his words, W.D. still looked shaken and Phillip clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, it was an accident.”

W.D. nodded and shook himself. “She took a bump to the head, doc’s got her stitched up.”

“So she’s awake?” That was good. Awake, nothing broken. Anne was tough, and he knew from experience she wouldn’t let a few bumps and bruises stop her. Though something in W.D’s face stopped him short, and Phillip narrowed his eyes slightly. “What is it?”

“The doc said sometimes it happens with bumps to the head, and I know about getting knocked silly but this ain’t that.” 

“W.D. what are you talking about?” 

Worried brown eyes met his, and Phillip felt his stomach drop. “She doesn’t remember.”

“What? The fall?” 

“The circus. She doesn’t remember anything.” W.D. scrubbed a hand down his face, and over his chin. “She knew me, but she didn’t know where she was or what she’d be doing or why.” 

Phillip pressed his thumb between his eyebrows, a nasty headache was suddenly flaring to life with every beat of his heart. He was still trying to process everything W.D. had said when a thought struck me.

“Wait, does she remember me?” 

“No, Phil. I’m sorry.” 

The headache seemed to magnify, and Phillip thought he might be sick. Before he could make up his mind on the matter, the door opened and Doctor Beaumont, the circus’ resident physician, appeared. 

“She’s concussed,” he said by way of greeting. Usually the doctor’s brusque manner didn’t bother Phillip, but today it felt like a bucket of ice water down his back. “She’ll need to rest and knowing Anne, she’ll resist, but I’ve ordered her to stay in bed until at least tomorrow morning.” 

“What about…”

“The amnesia? That’s a little trickier. Rest should help, but there’s not much to be done beyond waiting.” The older man laid a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carlyle.” 

Phillip didn’t really have a response to that, but it seemed to the doctor wasn’t expecting one. He withdrew his hand, and nodded to them both.

“I’ll be back in the morning, but if anything changes let me know.”

There was a long stretch of silence, or maybe it was only a few seconds, Phillip really couldn’t tell. Finally he heaved a sigh and looked up at W.D.

“I’m going to see her.” 

If W.D. thought that was a bad idea, he didn’t voice his opinion. Instead he nodded firmly, and opened the door. Phillip stepped inside, everything was as it had been when he'd last been there. The caravan had once been Anne's living quarters, now it was simply her dressing room. He had left her there before heading to his meeting. It seemed like that had been days ago, rather than hours. 

As for Anne, she was seated on the small bed tucked against the wall; it was opposite the door, and she was clearly visible with her knees drawn up and a shawl draped over her shoulders. It looked like she was still clad her in practice clothes. 

“Anne?” he called to gain her attention. 

She swiveled her gaze toward him, startled slightly when she focused on him, a strange white man in her home. 

“Yes?” she spoke softly, timid. 

“I’m Phillip… Carlyle,” he added at her blank look. “The ringmaster?” 

“Oh,” she breathed. “My boss?” 

“Something like that.” Phillip felt queasy. “I, uh, came to see how you were feeling. W.D. let me in.” 

At that, Phillip reached through the door and all but dragged the other man inside. W.D. shuffled inside, flashing his sister a quick smile. She seemed to relax at that. 

“That’s very kind of you Mr…. Carlyle,” she said carefully, as if she wasn’t completely certain that was correct. 

Both he and W.D. had moved more fully into the room, the door shut behind them. Phillip flexed his hands, suddenly realized he didn’t have his hat to hide his nervous fingers, lost somewhere in his mad dash there.

“May I?” He gestured toward his head. Anne’s hand rose involuntarily to touch where Beaumont had stitched the wound, before nodding and turning her face slightly. 

Phillip leaned in, more to get a better look at her face than to really look at the stitches. It took all he had not to cup her cheek and kiss her, like he wished to. He drew back slowly, tried to get a look at her eyes. She dutifully kept them downcast. 

“Are you in much pain?” he asked. 

“No, thankfully it’s just a headache. My memory seems to be the worst of it.” She shrugged, nonchalant, and Phillip felt a fresh wave of nausea hit him. But why would she care about something she didn’t remember, something she’d never known?

“I’m glad to hear that.” Phillip nodded. “I’ll let you rest, then. And W.D. I assume you’ll be watching her tonight?” 

He hoped he sounded light enough, a flippant question instead of a dire request. W.D. nodded, and offered up the most reassuring smile he could muster, before taking a seat next to his sister. She none too gently shoved him with her foot, leaning forward and whispering something. 

As Phillip walked to the door, he noticed the small bowl perched on the windowsill by the door. Inside was her wedding band, exactly where she put it before every practice, lest she lose it. Phillip glanced over his shoulder, saw her completely engrossed in conversation with her brother, and reached out to take the ring. He placed it in his vest pocket, a place it hadn’t been since he had asked her to marry him. 

Once he was outside, Phillip was nearly surrounded by the rest of the troupe, all anxiously awaiting news. Lettie was the first to speak.

“I saw the doc for a second, he said she doesn’t remember much?” 

“No.” Phillip shook his head, unable to meet anyone’s eye. 

“Not the circus? Not us?” Lettie paused, and when she spoke again her voice was soft. “Not you?” 

“She doesn’t know who the hell I am,” Phillip managed to say right before his stomach lurched and he finally vomited.


	2. Chapter 2

_ANNE_

 

Three days of rest, and Anne was getting more than a little antsy. She was quite certain if W.D. didn’t stop fussing over her, she was going to kill him with her bare hands. Even with a few visitors stopping by to check up, and introduce themselves, Anne could feel her brother grating on her last nerve. 

She felt fine, for heaven’s sake. Her headache had only lasted a day, and the doctor said her stitches were healing nicely. Her gap in memory was the only probably, so really there was no reason she couldn’t leave the caravan and take a walk around the grounds. Fresh air and exercise would be good for her, and maybe seeing a familiar place would help her to remember. 

So after an argument that only ended when Anne threatened to toss her brother out on his backside, did W.D. finally relent and let her have her way.

The circus grounds were bigger than she would have imagined, stretching out over a large swatch of land near enough to the docks that Anne could hear the water lapping occasionally. The main tent was enormous, towering up toward the sky, and several smaller ones were clustered around it. Behind it were the trailers and caravans the toupe used as dressing rooms and places of residence, and just beyond those were the outbuildings and stables where the animals lived. Anne nearly squealed in delight the first time she caught a glimpse of the elephants. 

Touring the grounds meant running into performers and crew alike, and everyone seemed to know her. They offered up friendly hellos, and inquiries about her health. It brought a smile to Anne’s face, because it honestly felt like a family. 

Feeling more at ease than she had in days, Anne made her to the big tent. She knew there were rehearsals going on, had heard someone mention something new for their closing act. She snuck in quietly, not wanting to disrupt them, only to see everyone stumble to a halt as a voice cried.

“My fault again. Sorry!” Anne crept a little closer, realized it was the ringmaster, Phillip Carlyle, who had spoken. He whipped off his top hat, ruffled his hair with a sigh as he plopped down on the edge of the ring. 

She hadn’t seen him since the first day, he had looked pale then, unwell. Today his cheeks were pink from exertion, his hair damp and adorably mussed. Though his eyes were still the same startling blue they had been when he had visited her. Anne watched as Lettie stepped forward to speak with him. 

“Why don’t sit this one out, watch for a bit?” Lettie spoke gently. “Or we can send for P.T? He did offer to step in for a while.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Phillip shook his head emphatically. “I’ll just... watch.” 

Lettie nodded, obviously pleased with the outcome. Then her gaze seemed to be pulled toward Anne, and her eyes widened slightly before she schooled her face into something more friendly. Lettie had been one of the first people to visit, and Anne had taken an instant liking to the woman. However, it was strange when someone seemed to know you so well, while you could barely recall their name.

“Why hello, Anne. Nice to see you out and about.” 

At the mention of her name, Mr. Carlyle shot up and whirled around to stare at her. “Anne…” he said. “Uh, you look well.” 

“Thank you. I’m feeling much better, and it’s really nice to get outside for a bit.” She laughed a little nervously, tried to focus her attention of Lettie. Something about Carlyle, something about the blueness of his eyes, made her feel… exposed. And for some bizarre reason it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“I thought I might watch for a bit, if that’s all right?” she asked Lettie, who smiled widely in return.

“‘Course it is, honey. Why don’t you take a seat here. We’ll see if we actually get through it this time.” She winked at Carlyle, who scowled good naturedly. 

As Lettie walked back to take her place, Carlyle retook his seat perched on along the ring. Anne sat next to him, watched as he tensed slightly before relaxing again. They sat in silence while the troupe practiced. 

Every so often Anne would sneak a glance at Carlyle, studying his profile, the way he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and twirling the brim of his hat with graceful fingers. He was handsome, she had to admit. Something about him intrigued her, but that was foolish. He was her boss, and white, and judging by how fine his suit was when he had checked in on her, rich too. 

Though he didn't look rich now, clad in a white shirt and a simple pair of black slacks. At the moment he looked downright normal. That intrigued her all the more. 

“What’s that?” she asked once she realized he had spoken.

He gave her a crooked smile, and nodded toward center ring. “I asked what you thought of the troupe?” 

“They’re a talented bunch.” 

“They are, when they don’t have a hopeless ringmaster slowing them down.”

“I’m sure you do well enough.” 

“Sometimes,” he said. 

Anne shook her head, her gaze darting back to the ring and then up and up, to the platform high above. She could see the trapeze bar securely in place, ready for her to grab hold and soar through the air. Her fingers practically itched with the need to be up there again. 

“You miss flying.” Carlyle’s voice was soft, and close. Anne turned to find he had leaned in toward her, and she felt her breath catch at how soft his eyes were. 

“I do,” she said once she found her voice. Anne tore her gaze away from him, and back up to the trapeze. “I just feel so trapped down here. Up there I’m free.” 

“I know,” he whispered. “I mean, you’ve said as much before.” 

She didn’t have time to ponder the wistfulness of his gaze, or even the idea that she had spoken so openly with him before, because the troupe was starting another runthrough and both she and Carlyle turned their full attention back on them. 

As she watched everyone perform, Anne rested her hand on the lip of the ring. After a moment she felt, rather than saw, Carlyle mimic the movement. Another beat and she could feel his hand close to hers, could feel the warmth radiating off it, then his finger barely brushed hers. Something about the contact sent a wave of grief coursing through her, settling down deep in her core. 

Anne shot to her feet. “I should get back before W.D. has a fit. Good afternoon, Mr. Carlyle.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to flee before he could even stand. 

When she returned to her caravan, she was glad to see that W.D. was nowhere to be found. Sinking back against the door, she let out a shuddering sigh, terrified what any of that had meant.


	3. Chapter 3

_PHILLIP_

 

“You just need to give it time, have a little patience.” 

Sprawled out on Barnum’s leather sofa, Phillip opened tired eyes and tilted his head back in order to look at the man behind the desk. “What’s that? The infamous Phineas T. Barnum is lecturing _me_ on the virtues of _patience_.” 

P.T. smiled, chuckled a bit. “Touché, kid. But working yourself up into a state isn’t going to do you, or Anne, a lick of good.” 

Unfortunately P.T. was right, and Phillip knew that. It was part of the reason he had barged into his friend’s home office without so much as a hello. Phillip sat up and scrubbed both hands over his face. 

“I know,” he sighed, “but the longer this goes on, the harder it is.” 

A week probably didn’t seem all that long to anyone else, but to Phillip it felt like a year. A week of his own wife looking at him like he was a stranger, a week of forcing back every action, every instinct he had when he was around her. A week of missing the love of his life when she was right in front of him. 

“Besides,” Phillip continued. “What if she doesn’t remember?” That thought kept him up at night, alone in their bed, the long hours dragging by until the sun appeared on the horizon and dawn broke. 

“Well considering she’s about as stubborn as you are, I don’t think that will be a problem. But if she doesn’t remember in time, what if you just told her the truth?” 

“The doctor thinks it’s better if she remembers on her own. And can you imagine how well that would go over? She already gives me a wide enough berth as is, let alone if I suddenly proclaim I’m her forgotten husband.” Phillip covered his face again. He was dimly aware of P.T. pushing back his chair, feet padding across the carpet.

A gentle hand settled on Phillip’s shoulder. “You want to stay for dinner?” 

“Yes, please.” 

P.T. laughed, gave Phillip’s shoulder a squeeze. “Good, the girls will be thrilled.” 

 

***

 

Dinner with the Barnums was always an adventure, and Phillip was thankful for the distraction. But if he were honest, he did notice a certain amount of reservation in some regards. Everyone seeming to walk on eggshells to avoid mentioning Anne, and the fact it hadn’t even been two weeks since she had last been to the Barnum household. Two weeks since they had all had a family dinner. 

Phillip left the Barnums in vaguely higher spirits than when he had arrived, but that didn’t really mean all that much. Still, he was grateful for their company. Instead of turning toward home, and an empty bed and no sleep, he walked down to the docks and the circus. 

At the night grounds were completely barren, everyone either already asleep or out carousing on their night off. Even the animals were quiet, dozing in their pens. It was the perfect place to think, except Phillip wasn’t sure he really needed to do more of that. 

Instead, he found himself checking things around the tent, making sure the ties and ropes were tight. It was something the crew did daily, but at least it gave him a sense of purpose. Then he wandered inside to do the same, surprised to find it already occupied. 

Anne was on her hoop, working her way through an older routine. Thankfully she was only a few feet above the ground, and relatively safe. It did give Phillip a rather nasty pang of nostalgia and melancholy, remembering a night not entirely unlike this one. 

He waited until she was sitting, her hands firm on the ring before he spoke, “have you been cleared for practice?” 

She startled at his words, head whipping to the side. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Neither did I.” He stopped near her dangling feet, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have not been cleared for the trapeze yet.” She spoke slowly, carefully choosing her words. There was a mischievous glint in her eye.

“And by definition that is not the trapeze?” Phillip arched an eyebrow at her. He might have been upset, worried about her safety, if he wasn’t so amused by her cunning.

“Correct.” She smiled and let go of the hoop, gracefully tipping backward until she hung upside down in front of him. That was familiar, and he had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss her. 

He very nearly did until she kicked one foot, sending the hoop in a slow arcing spin. He watched, transfixed, as she spun herself, twisting this way and that before pulling herself up and over the hoop and dropping to the ground with a soft, ‘ta da.’

Phillip clapped appreciatively, then gestured as if he were presenting her to the crowd. “The incomparable Anne… Wheeler, everyone.” 

She curtsied to the invisible crowd, seemingly unaware of his near slip. He wondered what she would think of Anne Carlyle. 

“It was nice to practice again, even if I wasn’t flying.” She smiled at him, and she did look happier than she had in days. 

“I’ll talk with Beaumont tomorrow, see about letting you get back on the trapeze.” Anne’s whole face lit up at the news. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but it was impossible for him to deny her anything. Especially when she smiled like that. 

“Really? Oh, thank you Mr. Carlyle!” Then, before either of them could think, she impulsively lunged forward and hugged him. 

Phillip’s breath let him in a sigh, his arms looping around her waist before he could even second guess himself. All of his senses were drowning in her, and he never wanted to let go. Except all too soon she was pulling away, and stuttering out an apology with her eyes locked on the ground. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carlyle. I wasn’t think--”

“It’s fine, Anne.” How he managed to keep his voice steady, he would never know. “And you can call me Phillip.” 

Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and he hastened to add, “Everyone else does.” 

She accepted that with a nod, although her eyes were still wider than normal. “It’s late, I should get some sleep,” she said. “Thank you again… Phillip.” 

Before he could reply, she turned on her heels and fled the ring. Once again leaving Phillip alone in the quiet, with only his troubled thoughts for company.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phillip just isn't having the best week.

_ANNE_

 

Anne avoided Phillip--Mr. Carlyle, whatever she was supposed to call him. Ever since the night in the ring she had been avoiding him, because she knew something had happened, only she wasn’t quite sure what it was. It had scared her and worried her, but it had also excited her. Something about him was getting under her skin, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Avoidance seemed the best option. 

Though she did observe him, even while she refused to speak to him. She watched him with the performers and the crew, watched him as ringmaster on show nights. Despite herself, Anne found she was memorizing all of his little quirks. 

She learned something else, something she was angry for not noticing before: he was married. How had she not noticed the gold band glinting on his left hand sooner? Then she wondered what he must think of her, rashly hugging a married man in the middle of the night. Life in the circus was certainly more lax, but her behaviour had hardly been proper.

Anne also wondered what his wife must be like; she imagined some beautiful society woman. Maybe someone like Charity Barnum? Mrs. Barnum seemed so elegant and full of life the few times Anne had met her. Mrs. Carlyle was probably refined, but still approachable. With intelligent eyes and cornsilk hair. For some inexplicable reason, the whole idea made Anne jealous. Troublingly so. 

Worse yet was the fact that no one would discuss her. Anne had been trying for days to glean some information about the illusive woman, but no one at the circus had any answers. Always deflecting, or flat out running away. 

The fact no one would speak of her, made Anne worry and concoct a hundred ridiculous scenarios to fill the gaps. Each more ludacris than the last. And surely if it were something like Mrs. Carlyle didn’t like Anne, or visa versa, someone would at least tell her that much. Wouldn’t they?

Anne continued to ponder the whole thing, until one day her luck seemed to run out. She could no longer avoid Phillip Carlyle, not when he had asked to see her in his office. Steeling herself, Anne took in a fortifying breath before knocking on the office door. 

Phillip’s muffled voice sounded on the other side, and she turned the latch. Stepping inside she found Phillip shirtless, arms raised as he pulled an undershirt over his head.

“I’m-I’m so sorry! I thought you said to come in.” Anne whirled around, mortified. Behind her Phillip laughed, and didn’t seem nearly as bothered as she was.

“It’s fine. I was just changing after rehearsal.” 

Stupidly, and even as her better judgment screamed not, Anne glanced back over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of lean muscles before they were covered by the shirt, and slightly puckered skin along his abdomen. It took her a moment to realize they were burns.

“You have burns,” she said and turned back to face him. Phillip stopped, one arm in his dress shirt, and stared at her. Eventually he seemed to come back to himself, and slide his other arm into the sleeve, buttoning the first few buttons. 

“I do,” he confirmed.

“How did you get burned?” Anne felt her eyes go wide. “That was rude, you don’t have to answer.” 

“That’s fine too.” He smiled softly, looking a little boyish. “We didn’t always have the tents. It used to be a building in town, but there was an accident and a fire. I was… trying to get people out.” 

That certainly sounded heroic, and her heart gave a flutter at the thought. Then something in the back of her mind, a strange needling feeling, wanted her to call him an idiot for taking the risk. She shook her head to clear the thought away.

“You wanted to see me, before I barged in?” 

He laughed, and it was such a pleasant sound she wanted to hear it again. Lord, she needed to stop this. 

“I did. I do. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair before the desk, waiting until she was settled before sitting himself. The gesture struck her as rather gentlemanly. “Since Doctor Beaumont has given you the all clear, I wanted to talk to you about performing and when you’d like to try again.” 

Anne thought she could burst, she was so happy. “As soon as possible. W.D. and I have been practicing again, I have to relearn the newer routines but they’re slowly coming back.” 

Phillip looked oddly sad at that news, but managed a smile nonetheless. “Good to hear. Just say the word, and you’ll be headlining again.” 

At that he rose from his chair, and Anne followed suit. Excited to find W.D and share the news. Phillip saw her to the door, and they both reached for the latch at the same time. Their hands touched as they were brought nearly flush together. 

A jolt ran up her arm from where they fingers were practically linked. She noticed that Phillip’s breathing had gone ragged, his eyes locked on her face. Anne nervously wet her lips, and his gaze followed the motion. 

A heartbeat.

Then he closed the small distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss. Anne, unable to stop herself, returned it.

Her arms wound around his neck, while his circled her waist. The kiss was heated and heady and before Anne knew what was happening, she was pressed up against the office door. They could have been like that for seconds or hours, she wasn’t entirely sure but her knees were starting to go weak. 

Something about that fact roused her, brought her back to her senses. Anne knew she should not be kissing her white, married boss like this. That was not who she was. 

With great effort she broke the kiss and shoved him away, immediately disappointed by the lack of contact and cursed herself a fool. Then she did the only thing she could think to do to make sure it didn’t happen again, she hauled back and slapped Phillip for all she was worth. 

His head snapped to one side with the force, and something passed over features that she couldn’t name, though it wasn’t anger or even regret. When his gaze met hers again, his eyes were wide and apologetic.

“Oh, god. Anne, I’m so sorry. You don’t--”

“I don’t what? I don’t understand? You a married man, Phillip Carlyle. I’ve seen that ring!” She pointed at his hand. “You should know better than going around kissing other women.” 

He looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers. “No, Anne, you just need to listen.” 

Anne felt anger and guilt building up; guilt for having feelings for him, guilt for kissing him, and guilt for the fact she didn’t feel guilty enough. She didn’t want to hear some poor excuse, some lie. She didn’t want to be the other women, she deserved better than that. 

“I don’t need to do any such thing!” She turned on her heel, yanked open the door only to have it slam shut again when Phillip blocked her escape with a palm on the door.

“No, please, Anne. Please just listen?” 

“I will not hear some lie about why it doesn’t matter if you kiss other women.” She tried to tug open the door, but Phillip’s hand remained immovable. 

“I’m not kissing other women!” 

Anne stepped back and looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Then what do you call what just happened!?” she shouted. 

“I call it kissing my wife!” he shouted back. 

Both of them were breathing hard, and Phillip collapsed back against the door, watching her carefully. Anne tried to comprehend what he had said, tried to will her breathing back to normal. Once she had succeeded with the latter endeavor, she looked at him. 

“What?” she asked. 

He sighed and pushed away from the door, walking behind his desk and reached for his vest hanging on the back of his chair. He dug around in the pocket for a moment before finding what he wanted. 

Phillip held out his hand to her, a gold band resting on his palm. “Your wedding band. You take it off before practice and shows, because you’re worried it’ll slip off otherwise.”

Hesitantly, Anne reached for the ring and plucked it from his palm. It was warmed from his skin, and she twisted it between her fingers. It certainly looked like a match for his. 

“The doctor thought it was best you remembered on your own, less jarring I guess?” He ran a hand through his hair, let out another shaky breath. “But I managed to screw that up.”

“We’re married?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“How long?”

“Nearly a year.” He gave her an uncertain smile, and her heart stuttered. “P.T. officiated. We kept it as small as we could, but even then the troupe made sure the reception lasted two days.”

Anne huffed out a small laugh. “I wish I could remember that,” she whispered.

Phillip swallowed thickly, his eyes damp. “Me too.” 

“I should… I need to go.” Suddenly the small office was suffocating, and she was overly aware of Phillip’s presence. The way he looked, the way he smelled, how it had felt to be pressed against him. It was too much. 

She didn’t wait for his reply, instead turning and yanking open the door so she could quickly flee. It seemed she did that a lot, left him gasping in her wake. The ring clutched in her hand felt like a heavy weight as she ran back to her caravan. 

At least now Anne knew why no one had ever brought up his wife: it had been her all along. And despite everything else, that knowledge seemed to almost make her giddy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously have no real update schedule for this. I'm just editing and obsessing over word choices and sentence structures like a neurotic writer. But I am glad everyone seems to be enjoying it! :D

_PHILLIP_

 

If Anne had been scarce before everything happened that fateful day in his office, she seemed to have vanished completely afterward. At least where Phillip was concerned. He knew she kept mainly to her caravan. He knew she saw W.D. and Lettie and even Charity had gone to visit her once. He also knew he hadn’t seen her face in days, and he was starting to go a little mad. 

All he wanted to do was to apologize. For not telling the truth sooner and how it finally came out, for kissing her, for everything he had done wrong. Maybe even apologize for not being there after the fall to being with.

Everyone wanted to help, offering what support and advice they could. Only none of it really helped. Waiting hadn’t worked, telling her hadn’t worked. He had even inadvertently followed Helen’s advice, which had been to kiss Anne like she was a princess in one of the girl’s beloved fairy tales. Phillip had kissed her all right, and still nothing had changed. 

After so many weeks, he was beginning to worry she may never remember. He wondered idly, if she didn’t remember if he could at least try to court her again, but if she refused to speak with him there was little chance of that happening. Things had seemed less hopeless after the night they ran into his parents, the night she had ended things before they had even truly started. 

He hadn’t been tempted to drink in so long, the desire now was almost foreign, unrecognizable. Once he knew it for what it was, Phillip dropped his head to his desk with a moan. He was so engrossed in his wallowing, he didn’t notice his office door opening, or someone stepping inside. 

“Phillip?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “Anne!” She looked beautiful, her hair in a loose chignon with curls framing her face. She was dressed for an outing, it seemed, her long grey coat buttoned up with a pair of sturdy boots on her feet. 

“Wha-what are you doing here?” Phillip scrambled to stand up, make himself seem somewhat presentable. 

She stood up a little straighter, pulled her shoulders back. “First, I came to say that I’m sorry for slapping you the other day.”

He could only shrug in response, given her understanding of things at the time he couldn’t really fault her. It was probably the least he deserved in that moment. 

“And second," she continued, "I was hoping you would show me… home. _Our_ home.” 

Phillip couldn’t suppress a smile at that, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Just give me one moment.” He glanced around for his suit jacket, and overcoat. Patting the pockets to make certain he had the keys. Once that was settled, he ushered Anne outside. 

There was a moment where he nearly offered her his arm, but he caught himself in time. Instead he fell instep next to her, and nodded toward the street before the circus grounds.

“It’s not far, that was one of the reasons why we bought it,” he said. She nodded, uncertain and nervous, and he wanted nothing more than to ease her worries. Only he wasn’t sure how to do that now. 

They walked in silence as they made their way toward the city, before finally turning down a side street and coming to a stop before the small building that served as their home. It wasn’t grand, or lavish, but it was perfect nonetheless. 

“It’s sweet,” Anne said, her eyes taking in every detail.

“It is.” He opened the front gate, motioned for her to step inside. She looked to the small flower bed by the door where a rainbow of primroses were just starting to bloom, and smiled.

“I love primroses,” she said.

“Yeah, you planted them last month. Around the side of the house you have an herb garden, but they’re just starting to sprout.” He fiddled with the brim of his hat, suddenly more nervous than he ever had been in all his life. 

Anne turned to him, still smiling, and he felt his heart lurch. “That’s wonderful,” she said. 

Phillip fumbled nervously as he unlocked the door, letting her inside. The main living area was small, but cozy, opening up into the kitchen and larder, and a short hall lead to the bedroom and washroom. He watched Anne as she took in all the little details, from the drapes on the windows, to the vase on the kitchen table. Usually it was full with a fresh bouquet, but today it sat empty. Paintings hung on the walls, pieces Phillip had kept from his theater days. Though one frame was different from the others. 

The photographer had been a surprise from P.T., and they’d only one had one chance to get something worth saving. Luckily it had worked out rather well. The photo depicted everyone huddled together in front of the circus tent, all frozen in varying states of joy. 

Front and center stood Anne and Phillip; he in an immaculate tuxedo and her in a beautiful lace gown with a curtain of curls framing her face, and a bursting bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands. Instead of facing the camera, like everyone else, they had instead turned toward each other, they lips fused in a kiss. Only their second as husband and wife. 

Anne was transfixed by the photo, eyes darting over it as she tried to take it all in at once. Eventually she tore her gaze away, and instead of looking at Phillip, she made her way to the kitchen, then the bedroom as she acquainted herself with the rest of the house. Phillip remained rooted to his spot by the door, barely inside the house. 

When Anne was finished looking around, she returned to the living room. “I like it,” she said, a small smile curving her lips.

“Would you like to stay here?” he asked. “Only it’s more comfortable than the caravan, and I can sleep in my office.” He gestured back toward the circus, his hat still in hand. 

“Yes, I would like.” She nodded. “But you don’t need to leave. I can’t kick you out of your own home.” 

Her words surprised Phillip, but also gave him a small pebble of hope to grab hold of. Perhaps his luck was finally changing for the better. 

Anne was glancing around, as if searching for conversation among the household items. “I suppose I could start dinner. Is there a market close by? I noticed there wasn’t much there.” She pointed toward the kitchen. 

“No, I haven’t… been eating… here.” Truthfully Phillip couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal. Whenever he was at the Barnums last, most likely. “There is a market, on 12th: up a block and left.” He gestured. 

“Good, thank you.” She bit her lip, looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t have any money?” 

“No, you do. Wait.” He sprang to life and whirled around to the coat rack by the door, picked out a small purse the same shade of purple as her trapeze costume. “That’s yours,” he said and thrust it toward her. 

Anne peeked inside, counted the bills. “Well, that’s a little more than pocket change,” she laughed. 

An awkward silence fell over them until Phillip regained his wits. “If it’s all right, I should head back to the circus. I have paperwork to finish.” 

“Oh! Of course. It was rude of me to bother you like I did, without asking if you were busy.” Again she looked embarrassed, and still Phillip didn’t know how to put her at ease.

“No, you’re never a bother. Whatever you need, I’m happy to do it.” He would do anything she asked, give her whatever she needed. He would give her the sun and moon and all the stars in the sky if he could.

“Well for now, I think I’m all right. So you should get back to work.” She smiled encouragingly, her cheeks darker shade than they were before. 

“I guess I’ll be back after the show?” he asked, wanting to make sure she was still fine with him staying there. 

Her smile widened a bit, a little more relaxed; a little more like herself. “All right. I’ll make sure to leave a plate for you.” 

Phillip returned her smile, some of the tension easing away at the familiarity of it all. Unthinking, he stepped in close to her and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Only when her eyes flew wide open did he realize what he had done.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I wasn’t thinking,” he stammered, hoping he hadn’t ruined whatever tenuous peace they had just built. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Anne waved him off. Phillip left in a hurry, embarrassment burning his face all the way back to the circus. 

Only when he was once again ensconced within the safety of his office, did he fully relax. How in the hell was he going to survive living with his wife?


	6. Chapter 6

_ANNE_

 

The home was modest, but that made it all the more perfect in Anne’s eyes. It was everything she had ever wanted, ever hoped for, right down to the little herb garden. After she made a quick stop by the market, Anne spent her time marveling at every minute detail of the house; taking in the things that were entirely her, and the things that were entirely Phillip, and how they seemed to blend together seamlessly. 

Anne hummed as she prepared dinner, feeling lighter than she had since her accident. Soon she would be back performing, and maybe then she and Phillip would be able to share their meals. She had long since put aside whatever confusion she felt, sorted through the myriad of feelings, until she was left with one thing: the thought of being Phillip Carlyle’s wife was rather pleasant. 

Even W.D. had told her to give it all a chance, to give Phillip a chance, and if that wasn't a seal of approval for the life she had now, she didn't know what was. 

Things were still awkward, and would likely continue to be for the foreseeable future, but she was certain he loved her. And even though she might not remember, she knew she loved him too. She could tell from the wedding photo alone, and circled back to it multiple times while waiting for things to cook. 

When night fell, Anne felt secure while staying in the house. She couldn't recall the place fully, but it did hold a sense of familiarity. Her intention had been to stay up until Phillip returned, but the hour grew late and in time she could barely keep her eyes open. She left a note on the kitchen table, explaining that his dinner was warming in the oven, and made her way to the bedroom. Without really thinking about it, Anne easily found a nightgown in the first drawer she checked. 

The next one down held Phillip’s things, undershirts mostly. She brushed her hand over the neatly folded items, wondering if she had placed them there. In a flash Anne was filled with an overwhelming sense of grief. How could she just forget everything? How could she forget how she had ended up exactly where she had always wanted to be?

With jerky movements, Anne dressed and readied herself for bed, all while trying not to cry. It felt foolish to miss something she couldn’t rightfully remember, yet she did. Wholeheartedly. 

Climbing into bed, she realized her mistake the moment her head hit the pillow. It smelled like Phillip. Like his cologne and the other, heady scent that was inexplicably him. Anne buried her face into his pillow, curled herself around it searching for comfort, and wept. 

When sleep finally claimed her, Anne’s mind was full of dreams of flying and falling, of longing and wanting, and of fire and ash. 

 

***

Anne woke with a start, chest heaving as she sucked in giant gulps of air. It took a moment for her to calm her racing heart, for her eyes to adjust to the darkness around her. She deemed it to be rather late, or very early, if the pitch blackness was anything to go by. 

The bed next to her was empty, though she still had a death grip on Phillip’s pillow. 

_Phillip_. Her heart constricted inside her chest at the thought of him, and she immediately threw back the blankets in order to find him. 

With great care, Anne crept out into the hall, avoiding the second floorboard that always creaked, and tiptoed into the living room. He was stretched out on the couch, one foot on the floor, while the other was draped over the armrest. 

He was still dressed, but he had slipped his suspenders off his shoulders, and undone his bowtie along with the first couple buttons of his shirt. Despite the fact the couch was hardly the most comfortable thing in the world, he looked rather peaceful. His face relaxed, making him look far younger than he appeared in his waking hours. 

The crisp white of his shirt, and the cream colored throw under his head sent her thoughts back to a hospital burn ward, when he had been asleep with only a dim hope of waking. Anne swallowed past the lump in her throat. The memory was foggy, but the emotions were far too real, choking her like the soot and ash had choked Phillip. 

She needed to be near him, the desire strong and urgent. It took some careful maneuvering and a few well placed shoves, but eventually Anne found herself securely on the sofa with Phillip. His back was pressed against the cushions, while she laid out nearly on top of him, one arm hugging his middle tightly. 

Over the years she had gotten rather skilled at such precarious perches, whether it was hospital beds or spare cots shoved in corners or even that very couch. Anne sighed in contentment, her face buried in the crook of Phillip’s neck. Surprisingly none of the jostling or moving had disturbed him, but something about her breath ghosting across his skin finally woke him.

Phillip started to stir, his arm tightening around her shoulders. Anne craned her neck until she could see his face, watching as he frowned in his sleep, eyebrows bunching together. He took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out as bleary blue eyes blinked open in confusion. 

“What’s this?” he mumbled, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

“You weren’t in bed, so I came to find you.” 

He stopped, the heel of his palm pressed into his eye. He was frowning again when he lowered his gaze to hers. “What do you mean?” 

At that point he seemed awake enough to take in their position, Anne practically wrapped around him like a snake, not even a hairsbreadth of space between them. She thought if he could move, he might have. Attempting some sense of propriety, even if it was entirely unnecessary. 

She smiled at him. “Exactly what I said: I came to find you.” 

“Why?” he asked and nervously wet his lips. 

“Because I needed you,” Anne whispered. She lifted her hand, trailed her fingers along his jaw. 

He caught her hand, frown deepening. “Why?” he asked again, eyes searching hers for the answer. 

“Because I dreamt of fire and rubble, and I needed you. I needed you to be okay.” 

“Anne? What do you remember?” His hand tightened around hers, his eyes seeming to turn a shade lighter with unfettered hope. 

“Some of it? Most of it?” It was hazy still, like trying to remember a dream when you first wake up. But the longer she stayed there, huddled so close to Phillip, the clearer it all became. Plus there were a few things she knew for sure, like the warm flutter inside her chest was all because of the man next to her. And that she had never been happier than she was with him. 

Phillip’s face was awash with joy, his eyes shining in the dim moonlight. Anne found it impossible not to kiss him, and so she did just that. He returned the favor as she adjusted herself, moving until she blanketed him completely. 

His hands dug into her hair, while hers fisted in the front of his shirt. For a while everything was languid and slow, as they reacquainted themselves after so many weeks apart.

Eventually things changed, hands roaming as kisses grew more desperate, more needy. Phillip’s hands had found their way under her nightgown, once smooth and unused to toil, they were now work roughened and strong. 

Anne broke their kiss, shoved herself up until she was straddling his hips. Phillip’s breathing was rough, his face full of adoration as he gazed up at her. A smile bloomed on her face as she bent forward again to peck his lips.

“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. 

“I love you too.” His smile was infectious, his fingers once again finding their way to her hair. He seemed content to kiss her until dawn, but Anne had a slightly different plan.

“Phillip?”

“Mm?”

“I think it’s time you took your wife to bed.”

He stared up at her, in a slight daze before her words sank in. Then he nodded. “Right, I can do that.” 

Before Anne knew what was happening, Phillip had stood up in a swift movement. She was on her feet for all of three seconds before he swept her up in his arms, carrying toward the bedroom like she was a blushing bride. 

They giggled the entire way, all the while stealing kisses and sharing glances, and Anne was certain they would both remember that night for the rest of their lives. 

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What like I wasn't going to have a sappy ending? Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it! :D


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